


A List of Things That Are True

by misslucyjane



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet Ending, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Black Panther (2018), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve Rogers Has PTSD, playing with comics canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 00:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21188180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslucyjane/pseuds/misslucyjane
Summary: After a year apart, Steve visits Bucky in Wakanda. It's amazing how much Bucky has improved since their last meeting, but Shuri and T'Challa both warn Steve not to push Bucky into something he's not ready for.Steve is certain Bucky's not ready to remember everything about his past, especially everything about their shared past. But luckily for Steve, Bucky already knows what's true.





	1. Message

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Huntress79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/gifts).

> [](http://imgbox.com/76y4ZHTg)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgbox.com/LZ7S6kpo)

  1. 夜雨寄北 

君問歸期未有期

巴山夜雨漲秋池

何當共剪西窗燭

卻話巴山夜雨時

  1. On a Rainy Night, to a Friend in the North

You ask me when I am coming. I do not know.

I dream of your mountains and autumn pools brimming all night with the rain.

Oh, when shall we be trimming wicks again, together in your western window?

When shall I be hearing your voice again, all night in the rain?

  * Li Shangyin

# ~ ~ ~

_He wants to see you. Will you come?_

Steve closes his phone. The previous messages from Wakanda were brief but hopeful -- _He is resting still. We think we are making progress. We are confident our methods are working. He dreams in peace._ \-- until the day finally came, about eight months in, when Steve received the message he'd been hoping for: _He has awoken._

And then silence.

Steve has been hoping for a message like this, but not expecting to get one. He understands the long silence, he really does. Bucky has survived Hell. He's safe in the one place that can protect him. Steve knows T'Challa keeps Bucky informed of current events, including the doings of the Avengers; Bucky must also know Steve is on the run, a fugitive with a ragtag little band still intent on saving a world that hates and fears them. There is no reason for Bucky to invite trouble to his door.

It's just, he keeps losing Bucky over and over.

"Cap?" Sam asks from the front passenger seat, his voice full of concern."We got a new mission?"

"This one's personal," Steve replies. Sam nods and gazes at the passing farmland, miles and miles of cornfields painted gold in the setting sun.

That's the trouble, Steve supposes. He has no time for personal. Even if he weren't chasing terrorists and the latest super-villain intent on world domination, he'd still have this little crew to look after. Wanda, Nat, Sam -- Clint and Scott accepted deals so they could go home, and Steve begrudges neither of them their choices because family comes first -- and he can't leave them for so selfish a reason as seeing Bucky.

From the driver's seat, Natasha glances into the rearview mirror. Steve lets their eyes meet, and Natasha smiles with the corner of her mouth as if she knows what he's thinking. Natasha being Natasha, she probably does.

"Later," Steve says to her.

Her eyebrow quirks, but she only turns on the radio and says, "Sam, will you find a station? We're close enough to a town to get some reception, I think."

"Yes'm," says Sam, and twirls the dial to search for music between bursts of static.

It's dark when they stop for the night at a nondescript roadside motel, like any of the dozen or so they've stayed in when in the States. It has a playground and a small swimming pool, a vending machine outside of the office, and a few other cars in the parking lot.

Once they settle in their rooms -- Steve and Sam share, and Natasha usually shares with Wanda -- they pile into the Jeep and drive into town to find a place to get dinner.

The little town is preparing for Independence Day. Bunting hangs from the street lamps and there are banners advertising a Fourth of July parade, rodeo, and carnival. They pass a Wal-Mart with a tent selling fireworks and sparklers, and they can see the lights of the carnival from the edge of town.

Natasha parks beside a pizza place, and she and Sam hop out. Steve follows more slowly -- he doesn't have Sam and Natasha's devotion to pizza, but he acknowledges it's not a bad meal, especially when the place has a salad bar. He likes the mom-and-pop shops better than the big chains, even though they tend to be less busy than better-known restaurants and he worries their little group might be memorable, should someone come along and ask questions.

Tonight's restaurant has a salad bar and a place to play darts, a jukebox, beer on tap and a solidly traditional menu. It's popular enough that half the tables are occupied even on a weeknight, and the phone rings with delivery orders as they wait in line.

"Your turn to choose," Steve says to Natasha.

"Pepperoni," Natasha says.

"With sausage," says Sam.

Natasha wrinkles her nose. "Ugh, too much meat."

Sam grins back. "I can't help it -- I'm a red-blooded American boy. I need protein."

Natasha laughs outright. "All right, pepperoni and sausage." She points to the menu. "They call it cowboy style."

"One cowboy, one vegetable feast," Sam suggests, and Natasha is laughing still as she places the order for two larges, three salad bars, and a pitcher of beer.

"You folks in town for the Fourth of July?" says the girl behind the counter. She can't be more than fifteen, her brown hair in pigtails and tied with red and white ribbons that match her T-shirt, which is emblazoned with the name and logo of the restaurant.

"We are, darlin,'" says Sam as he leans on the counter. "The big fella is up for a blue ribbon with his prize pig, Maisie Lou."

She giggles as she rings them up. "Good luck."

Steve chuckles at the pair of them and goes to choose a table. The restaurant's big front windows are painted with their specials menu, and cartoons of steaming-hot pizza slices and foamy pitchers of beer. Steve sits at a table near the windows, where he can have his back to the wall.

Sam joins him with the pitcher and mugs. "Maisie Lou?" Steve says as Sam pours their drinks.

"My grandma's name."

"Great, my prize pig is named after your grandma." Steve takes a mug.

Sam grins and leans back in the seat as he takes a sip of beer. "It's a nice place, don't you think? Nat and I could stay here for a while."

Steve sips as Sam speaks, and he raises his eyebrows over the rim of the mug.

Sam says, "You know. If you need to see to some personal stuff."

Natasha joins them with a plate full of salad. "They have three different kinds of lettuce. I'm impressed. What personal stuff?"

"The text Steve got earlier."

"Ah," Natasha says and forks up her first bite of salad. "The latest update, I assume?"

"Yeah," Steve says. "I'm going for salad." He leaves them to go to the salad bar. It's a pretty good spread for a place this small -- he hopes it isn't a drain on their resources to keep fresh food around like this.

He could go. Of course he could. He longs to see Bucky. He -- he _yearns_ for him. Ever since Bucky came back, there has never been enough time to just _breathe_ together for a while.

But if he's with Bucky he won't be with his team, and his team needs him. He looks across the restaurant to their table, where Sam is making Natasha laugh yet again. It's always a comforting sight, when they're relaxed enough to entertain each other.

He shouldn't go. It's too much of a risk to his team, to Bucky. He'll tell T'Challa thanks, but it just isn't the right time.

Steve fills his plate and takes it back to their table, just in time for the girl behind the counter to say, "Number forty-eight, your pizzas are ready."

Steve drops off his salad plate, then returns to the counter. The girl tells him, "Good luck at the livestock show, mister."

Steve replies, "He was just yanking your chain," as he picks up the pizza trays and balances them easily on his fingertips as he carries them back to their table.

Sam takes a slice before Steve has set the trays on the table. "Feels like a year since we've had lunch," he says and eats half of it in one bite.

Natasha takes a slice of vegetable and a slice of cowboy style, and places them on an empty plate. She takes a much daintier bite -- though Steve learned early on that she can easily eat half a pizza without getting even a drop of sauce on her shirt -- and once she swallows, says, "Wow. This is _good._"

"These local places always know what they're doing," Sam remarks. "Remember that hole-in-the-wall in Cincinnati?"

"Oh, gosh, that was amazing," and they eat and talk about other amazing slices they've had in the past. Steve eats, half-listening, as he thinks about the wording of the text he'll send to T'Challa.

It takes him a moment to notice Natasha and Sam have stopped talking out loud -- they seem to be communicating mostly through their eyes, one to the other. He says quietly, putting down his slice in preparation to spring, "What is it?"

As if in decision, Natasha puts down her slice, too. "I didn't send Wanda on a solo mission."

"Oh?"

Natasha is calm. "She's with Vision."

"Wanda would never betray--"

"She's in love with him. They're in love."

That silences Steve. Sam doesn't even look surprised.

Natasha says, "They've been meeting for over a year. They take circuitous routes and never go to the same city twice. Vision turns off his transponder so not even Tony can find him." She picks up her slice again, eyebrow arched as if in challenge, and takes a defiant bite.

Steve says to Sam, "Did you know about this?"

"I knew," Sam says casually. "It's not hard to see, if you know what to look for."

No help there. Steve says to Natasha, "Why are you telling me this now?"

"I thought you could use the inspiration."

"We'll be okay without you for a few weeks," Sam says, "if you need to take a detour."

"You need to take a detour," says Natasha.

"You're ganging up on me," Steve says.

"You miss Bucky," counters Natasha. "Go see him, reassure yourself that he's okay, and come back ready to focus again."

Steve toys with his mug. "I got a message from T'Challa today. Bucky wants to see me. I guess I didn't hide it well."

"You never do," says Natasha. "When are you leaving?"

"I haven't decided if I should go yet."

Natasha does not throw up her hands in despair, but for a moment she looks like she wants to. "You're going."

"Natasha--"

"Don't argue with me, Rogers."

He starts to appeal to Sam, but Sam raises his hands to ward it off before Steve says a word. "You know my philosophy, Steve. Do what Nat says."

It's a good philosophy. Steve subscribes to it, himself. Without another word he takes out his phone and opens to the text messages. He types, _I'll come._


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgbox.com/8mXhpppP)  


As the Hoverjet passes the borders of Wakanda, Steve moves from the passenger seat to the cockpit so he can see the jungle and patches of farmland. The pilot, one of the Dora Milaje named Ayo, gives him an amused look as she brings the ship lower still; they break through the barrier surrounding the capital, and fly low enough that Steve can even see the ripple the ship’s wake leaves on the river.

“Never gets old, does it?” Steve says to Ayo. "This view, I mean."

“It does not, Captain.”

Steve returns to his seat and buckles himself in for landing. He changed his clothes and took a quick shower before boarding a plane to Ireland, but he hasn't shaved since ... Nebraska, he thinks it was. Now he rubs his bristly chin, thinking maybe he should have taken a minute to find a razor.

But maybe Bucky won't mind a little beard burn, if they -- if he can --

Steve gives himself a mental shake, and to change his train of thought he says, “Have you met him? Bucky?”

“I have," says Ayo. "He is a quiet man, but I have exchanged a few words with him."

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs. "He's a quiet man." He is now, anyway. He wasn't back in Brooklyn.

The jet descends to the landing pad, as smooth as a boat easing into its dock. The palace is shining and magnificent, the city like a painting spread out below and green hills in the distance. Steve thinks, _I'd like to draw this._ Maybe he'll have enough time to make some art. He hasn't done much more than doodle for months.

T’Challa himself meets them on the landing pad, surrounded by his phalanx of guardswomen. There's no sign of Bucky, to Steve’s disappointment. “Captain Rogers.” T’Challa and Steve shake hands, T'Challa grasping Steve's wrist. “Welcome to Wakanda.”

“Thank you for inviting me, Your Majesty,” Steve replies.

T'Challa gestures for Steve to come with him, and says as they walk into the palace, “Sgt. Barnes is still on his farm. We will take you there soon. First, my sister asked to speak with you once you arrived.”

Steve says, “Is something wrong?” _Is something wrong with Bucky?_

“Nothing is wrong. Shuri has been instrumental in Sgt. Barnes’s recovery.”

_Recovery._ That's a good, reassuring word. “Is Princess Shuri a doctor?”

T’Challa gives him an amused look. Steve has been getting a lot of those lately. “She is Wakanda’s lead engineer.”

“Huh,” says Steve. Still. _Recovery._ There is so much hope implied in that one word.

T’Challa and the Dora Milaje take Steve through the vast, airy palace. Guards snap to attention as they pass various doors and hallways, and T'Challa nods in acknowledgement to each one. "The Queen Mother is visiting the River Tribe," T'Challa said apologetically, "or she would also welcome you to Wakanda. She sends her regards."

"Please tell her I appreciate her welcome," Steve says.

They come to an inner level of the palace, with large windows and walls decorated with modern, graffiti-like art. It's quiet aside from murmurs between the technicians in white coats as they move back and forth between workstations, and the gentle hum of their machines.

One of the scientists is wearing a bright blue -- Steve knows no other word for it than "outfit" -- her long hair bound in braids and decorated with white, blue, and orange beads, held back from her face by wide white hair bands. She bends over a table filled with black sand, frowning and muttering to herself as the sand shifts shapes. Blue readouts tick above the table with each shift.

"Brother," the woman says without looking up from her work, "I can put a propulsion system into your suit if you do not mind a slight additional weight to your back -- less than one hundred fifty milligrams, according to my calculations."

"That is acceptable," T'Challa says. "Go ahead with your prototype. Shuri, our guest is here."

Shuri looks up. Her face breaks into a wide smile when she sees Steve, and the shapes on the table dissolve into fine black sand. "Captain Rogers," she says and came around the table. "Welcome back to Wakanda. I am so happy to finally meet you in person, after hearing so much about you from my brother and Sgt. Barnes."

"Your Highness," he says, smiling too. "Thank you. King T'Challa said you wanted to speak to me before I see Bu -- Sgt. Barnes."

"I would like for you to see what we have learned with Sgt. Barnes. Come with me, please." She leads them to another section of the lab, to the familiar cryogenic chamber where Bucky had slept. Shuri touches one of the monitors beside the chamber, and it comes to life: graphs, maps, and columns of text in blue light display on the chamber's clear curved lid.

Shuri touches one of the maps to enlarge it. It is the diagram of a brain in profile -- Bucky's brain, judging by the familiar features even in abstract -- and surrounded by images, many of Steve from Bucky's point of view. Many, too, are things Steve didn't witness but can easily imagine, like Zola's smug face in the HYDRA prison camp, or Bucky awakening as they began to transform him into the Winter Soldier.

"These images represent the memories that HYDRA manipulated in order to create his trigger words," Shuri says, and touches the display again. The images disappear, to be replaced by an orderly graph, with only a few bursts here and there. "This is the latest capture of his brain activity. His memories are returning steadily. We have encouraged him to write them down as they return, to help him from becoming overwhelmed."

"He'd begun to do that," Steve says. "The notebooks were taken from him when he was captured by the CIA in Bucharest."

Shuri and T'Challa exchange a smile. "We've been able to recover the notebooks," T'Challa says. "They are in Sgt. Barnes's possession once again."

"Thank you," Steve says and exhales.

"His memories of you are also returning at a rapid pace," Shuri says. "We meet a few times a week to monitor his physical state and discuss what he has recovered, and he mentions memories of you more and more. It took some time for us to decide he was ready to see you again. He has been concerned about what you think of him."

"I've missed him," Steve says. "That's pretty much what I think."

"Yes," Shuri says, "that does not surprise me. Captain, he admires you deeply. He would do anything you ask, even before he's ready."

"I," Steve begins, then stops and swallows hard.

"It's very important," Shuri says gently, "that he is allowed to choose his own path. I want you to promise me you will not ask him to do something he is not ready for and does not want. That includes leaving Wakanda."

"He would go," T'Challa adds. "For you, he would go."

"I know," Steve says. The reflection of sunlight on the white interior is stinging his eyes. He blinks a few times. "I won't ask him to. I won't ask him anything he's not ready for."

"Someday, he will be ready to return to the outside world," Shuri says. She closes the windows of graphs and text by touching them lightly with a fingertip. "Someday, the outside world may even be ready for him."

"I understand." Natasha always says he's bad at hiding his emotions, but he hopes he hides his disappointment now -- of course they're right, of course he can't ask Bucky to leave the one place he's safe. Bucky remembering him, admiring him, doesn't mean they should pick up where they'd left off.

_Those days,_ Steve thinks with a sigh, _are long gone._

They say goodbye to Shuri. T'Challa and the Dora Milaje take Steve out of the palace, to the road where a Range Rover waits. Its engine gives a quiet hum, and the gas tank lid has been sealed shut. It's powered by vibranium, Steve suspects.

"I must leave you here, Captain," T'Challa says. One of the guards brings Steve's bag and places it in the back of the Rover. "Two of the King's Guard will accompany you to the village." Another gives T'Challa a bracelet made of round vibranium beads, similar to what they, Shuri, and T'Challa also wear. "You may communicate with us using this, in case there is an emergency of any kind."

"Thank you." Steve takes the bracelet and slips it onto his left wrist.

"Sgt. Barnes will show you how to use it." T'Challa clasps Steve's hand above the wrist, and Steve clasps T'Challa's. "We will come for you in a week, if you do not need us sooner. Safe travels, Captain."

"You as well, Your Majesty," Steve says, and climbs into the Rover.


	3. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgbox.com/6pVJlDJe)

The two members of the King's Guard are named Lwazi and Themba, and they answer Steve's questions with good humor. Listening to their stories about the city and then the countryside gets Steve's mind off the wait, and his foot even stops tapping for minutes at a time.

Still, by the time they are driving through the grasslands, Steve breathes out with relief. Of course Bucky lives in a remote part of the country. He would stand out too much in the city or even in the palace. Out among the pastures and farms, only his neighbors might know about him.

He hopes Bucky has good neighbors.

"How much farther?" Steve asks Lwazi.

"We will be there within thirty minutes, Captain Rogers," Lwazi says.

Steve nods and sits back in the seat. His heel taps on the Range Rover's floor. "What's the name of the river?"

The sun is setting by the time Themba steers the Range Rover slowly through a row of small round houses at the edge of the river. Villagers wave to them as if the sight of the King's Guardsmen is a familiar one, and Steve sees a few of them whisper to each other. _Not hard to figure out why,_ he thinks wryly. He scrubs his hand over his beard, wishing again he'd taken the time to shave.

Themba stops the Rover at the far end of the village, where the huts are nestled among trees and the river gently curves.

The red curtain to the last hut opens, and out steps Bucky.

Steve's breath catches. He swings out of the Rover and crosses the grass, no thought in his mind but _Bucky Bucky Bucky._ He starts to reach for him -- but remembers, _Don't push him, let him lead,_ and drops his arms. "Bucky," he says. "Hey."

"Hey, punk," Bucky replies, and hugs him as if it were 1941 again.

Steve hugs him back, hard, and buries his face in Bucky's neck. He smells like clean water and fresh straw; like the villagers, his clothes are simple: leather trousers, a blue woven top that make his eyes look as bright as the sky, and a large, dark orange scarf knotted across his chest that covers his stump. His braided hair is bound with leather cords and decorated with tiny colorful beads. His beard is trimmed, and his face is thin.

But most importantly, everything about him is relaxed, like the Bucky of Steve's memories -- _his_ Bucky, a man assured of his place in the world no matter where he was.

"You look good," Steve says, stepping back just enough to give him a thorough once-over. "You look real good, Buck."

"You too, Steve." His eyes are soft, as is his smile. "I like the beard."

Steve rubs his chin. "I might keep it, then," and they grin at each other.

"Captain, Sergeant," says Lwazi as he brings Steve's bag from the Rover. "If all is well here, we will return to the city."

"We're good," Bucky says, keeping an arm around Steve. "Thank you for bringing him."

"Of course, Ingcuka," Lwazi replies, and they wave as Themba turns the Rover and drives out of the village.

Bucky inhales and looks at Steve. "Well," he says. "Hungry?"

"Yes," Steve says fervently. "They fed me on the flight, of course, but that was a while ago."

"I've got some food cooking for you," Bucky says. "No goat meat, it's the wrong season to slaughter a goat just for two people, but some of my friends helped me make a little feast for us."

"Beans, just like old times?" Steve says, but it's just to tease him. He can't get over how _good_ Bucky looks, not just handsome but healthy, like he's been sleeping deeply and working hard and eating well; he's strong and tanned, his hand is calloused and his eyes are bright.

"Bucky steers him to the little house with the red door. "We never would have imagined this in the old times, But I promise you'll like it. C'mon, let's get you settled."

Inside the hut, it's small but comfortable; two low beds, spare like the camp beds they slept on during the war when they were lucky enough to have beds; a central fireplace where a thick porridge burbles in a pot and bread bakes on a flat stone; a full bookshelf, a small wardrobe. There are pots and tanned hides hung on walls. The floor is made of cork, and the lack of windows keep it cool against the Wakandan sun. The hut smells like curry and spices, with the watery scent of the river under everything.

"This bed is yours," Bucky says, gesturing to the bed to the left of the fire pit. "I can't sleep if I can't see the door."

"No problem." Steve drops his bag on the bed. "Mind if I unpack?"

"Please do. This is almost done." He kneels beside the fire, and deftly turns the flatbread on the stone to bake on the other side.

Steve opens the bag and takes out his clothes. He packed light: a few pairs of cargo shorts and utility trousers, changes of underwear, shirts, a few things he'd picked up on his way to Europe in an attempt to find Bucky some presents.

These now seem silly -- but, hell, if you couldn't be silly around your oldest friend, who could you be silly around?

"Hey, Buck," he says. "Brought you something." He tosses Bucky a Hershey bar.

Bucky catches the bar, and grins as he holds it up. "Hey, chocolate! Thanks."

"I wasn't sure what that chocolate supply would be here, but figured you hadn't had one of these in a while."

"We have chocolate here," Bucky says. "I'll get you some from a local shop. But yeah, I haven't had a Hershey bar for a long time." He frowns as he studies it. "Didn't they used to be bigger?"

"I think they were." Steve sits on the bed, his hands hanging over his knees. "You used to hoard your chocolate ration during the war, do you remember?"

"I remember," Bucky says and places the chocolate bar on his kitchen shelf. He takes two earthenware bowls and scoops two servings of porridge into them. "This is called amala. It's made from yams." He hands Steve a bowl and spoon. "And this is himbasha -- celebration bread." He tears the bread in half and gives Steve a piece.

"Thanks. You've learned to cook, eh?" Steve eats a bite of the porridge, and pauses while he lets the flavors flow over his tongue. He swallows and says, "Yeah, you have."

"I have," Bucky says. He sits cross-legged on the floor at Steve's feet, and eats a bite of stew himself. "I'm trying to be self-reliant."

"Wouldn't they feed you at the palace?"

"Sure," Bucky says. "I lived there for a few months after they first brought me out of cyro. I still go back to the palace regularly so Shuri can monitor my recovery."

"She mentioned that."

Bucky stirs his porridge. "But I'm not a palace guy." He looks up at Steve. "I hope you'll get to spend some more time with the royal family while you're here. They're great. They're all great. They never make me feel like a burden and I always have a seat at their table."

"I hope I can spend more time with them, too, if that's the case." Steve tastes his bread. It's lightly flavored with honey -- delicious -- and his second bite is much bigger. He says when he's swallowed, "Should I not ask about what you remember?"

"You can ask anything you want."

"But I don't -- I mean, if there are things you don't want to remember --"

"Steve," Bucky says, "I remember so much, more than I want to. But I need to remember it all, even the parts that hurt, so I can deal with it." He gestures to the bookshelf. There are dozen or so hard-bound notebooks arranged neatly on the bottom shelf. "I've got ways to cope with the bad stuff, and even the bad stuff helps me remember the good things. Like Hershey bars."

Steve moves to sit on the floor beside Bucky. They're close enough that their thighs touch. "Are there enough good things to balance the bad?"

"There are more good things every day." He lays his head on Steve's shoulder.

Steve puts down his bowl and wraps an arm around Bucky's shoulders. "I'm glad. I'm glad." He rests his chin on Bucky's head.

"I've started keeping a list," Bucky says. "Kind of an abbreviated diary. I've been told so many lies over the years that I decided I need a way to reassure myself, I guess, of what is actually true as it happens. It helps a lot."

"I like that," Steve says. "That sounds like a good list."

Bucky leaves his head on Steve's shoulder a moment more, than straightens and picks up his bowl again. "Finish your porridge. You need to see the sunset."

Steve smiles at him and eats with renewed gusto.

#    



	4. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgbox.com/4kJBCR8P)

The setting sun paints the river pink and gold. Bucky spreads some thick woven blankets on the shore; Steve lies at Bucky's side with his arms behind his head, as Bucky props himself on his elbow and watches the river, his expression mild.

Stars sparkle overhead, bright enough that Steve can pick out familiar constellations. Lights burn in the huts that line the riverbanks. Animals low in their pens, and insects buzz in the undergrowth.

"So gorgeous here," Steve murmurs.

"It really is."

He studied Bucky's profile. "Are you managing okay? Don't hold back on me."

Bucky plucks a long blade of grass. He winds it around his fingers in a figure eight. "I'm doing okay. I mean, there are a few special things I have to ask for help with," he shakes his head to demonstrate, and Steve smiles at the click of beads in his hair, "but I can get dressed and cook and take care of my herd. I have people I care about and responsibilities to take care of, and a reason to get out of bed in the mornings -- could be worse."

"What about living like this?" Steve presses. "A city boy, farming and herding goats?"

"What's not to like?" Bucky says. "It's quiet. It's beautiful. I have friends -- granted, most of them are under the age of twelve, but they're great kids and good teachers. They don't even laugh at me anymore when I get the language wrong." He says seriously, "I'm pretty happy, Steve."

"Good," Steve murmurs. "I'm glad." Before he can stop it, he remembers the fight with Tony -- Iron Man's blasters, the shield bouncing back and forth as if they weren't Steve and Bucky any longer but were one being, Bucky's scream when Iron Man tore off his metal arm.

Steve lays his arm over his eyes.

"You okay?" Bucky says.

"Yeah." He removes his arm. "Yeah. Just -- memories."

Bucky huffs. "Yeah. Know what you mean." He lies on his back too. "Sometimes I feel grateful for them, though. Even the bad ones. Being the Soldier -- there's nothing good to remember about that. But I feel like in exchange, I can remember Brooklyn better and better every day. I remember my sisters and my parents, and your ma. I know it was hard when we were coming up, but I also know I never went to bed hungry."

Steve whispers, "You and yours made sure my ma and I never did, either."

"You'd draw," Bucky says. "Didn't matter how tiny the stub of pencil was, you'd draw with it. On newspapers, on book flyleafs. Some of them were funny and some of them were sweet, but all of them were good. You especially loved to draw faces."

"They still fascinate me, all the ways that features go together. There was a woman on the plane from the States, in fact, that I had to draw because she looked like she'd had quite a life. Turns out she was a recent widow and was taking a trip to England and Ireland to see where her ancestors came from, something she and her husband had been meaning to do for years but there was always a kid who needed braces or college tuition to cover. She decided spur-of-the-moment to stop waiting for the time to be right, and just _go_."

Bucky laughs again, quiet. "That's my Stevie. Lover of humanity."

Steve smiles to himself, but still says, "Not so much anymore, to be honest. Humanity is harder to believe in nowadays."

"It always was," Bucky says, "but that didn't stop you, even when we were kids. I remember that. My angry little lion man -- you didn't get angry until someone gave you a reason. It was just our misfortune that so many people gave you reasons."

"You never started a fight," Steve says. "You just finished them."

"Yeah," Bucky says quietly.

Steve props himself on his elbow. "Lion man, huh?"

Bucky waves his hand. "You know what I mean. You're not little anymore."

Steve lies down again, feeling -- he isn't sure. Warm from the sun. Warm from Bucky's familiar voice. Warm from the comforting sounds around them. This land is unknown to him but it's still welcoming, like the embrace of a new friend who's decided that they like you.

But, he thinks, he might feel that way about anywhere that took Bucky in and helped him thrive.

Bucky says, "Shuri asked me if I'd like a new arm. We talked about what it should do, and she's taken some measurements and run some tests on my flesh arm. I don't know if she's done anything more about it, though, and I'm fine with that." He tosses a pebble into the water. "The arm HYDRA gave me, it was never meant to make my life easier. It was only ever meant to make me a better weapon."

"You were never just a weapon, Buck."

Bucky smiles at him without humor. "Even the good ol' U. S. of A. made me into a weapon, Steve. From the moment I first held a gun in my hands, they could see it. So did you."

Steve wraps his arms around his knees. "I wanted you to go home. You'd been a POW. You could have been honorably discharged and gone home without anyone looking at you sideways. But you, you stubborn mule--"

"I know. I stayed. Steve." He looks at Steve intently. "I don't blame you. I've _never_ blamed you. Even when I thought I was going to die, I didn't blame you."

Something inside Steve lets go. He leans his head on Bucky's shoulder and inhales the scent of him. Smoke from the cooking fire, spices from their supper, fresh water like the river, and underneath it all, that familiar scent that is always Bucky. God, it's so good to just _smell_ him again.

Bucky pushes his hand into Steve's hair. "Someday you'll get it, punk. You've always been the center for me. You've always been the place I come to rest."

"I get it." Steve pulls himself back. _Mustn't push. Mustn't rush. Must let him remember as he remembers it._

He scrubs his hands over his face.

"Tired?" Bucky says. "We should get to bed. The day starts early here."

"Right," Steve says and gets to his feet. He helps Bucky gather the blankets and carry them inside, and gets ready for bed in a haze of sleepiness. How long has it been since he's slept secure? _Too long_, he thinks as he lies on his bed and watches Bucky drop the curtain over the front door. But he'll sleep secure tonight.

Once the rustling of Bucky going to bed ends, the only sounds are the lazy roll of the river against its banks and the whirring of insects' wings.

Steve whispers, "It's so quiet."

"Great, isn't it?"

"I don't know yet."

Bucky says, "Listen to the water. Don't even think in words, if you have to think. Let the sounds rock you to sleep."

Steve closes his eyes and makes himself breathe deeply. The sound of the river _is_ soothing, but he can't stop his thoughts -- their little cold-water apartment and their shared bed, the smoky stove, the wardrobe where they kept their few shirts and trousers and boots, the table where Steve drew and Bucky read out loud to him unless a neighbor's radio was playing and then he would ask Bucky to dance.

They went to bed hungry sometimes, but they went to bed _together_.

He wants to say something about it -- he wants to ask if Bucky remembers that bed, those dances -- but he can't be the one to bring it up. If Bucky remembers, then he remembers.

If he doesn't, Steve will --

He'll --

Steve turns onto his side so he faces the wall. He will just have to go on surviving.


	5. Daybreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgbox.com/LgR6esxc)

Steve wakes to sunshine on his face. He rubs his eyes and blinks, then sits up. The curtain over the door is tied back, and lets in the scent of the river and sounds of the village in addition to the gentle morning light.

There is more bread baking on the flat stone over a low cooking fire. Steve sits on the edge of the bed, and when Bucky comes back with a gourd full of goats' milk, he says, "Is it hard to get electricity out here?"

"Nope," Bucky says as he pours milk into a cup. "There are a lot of houses out here that have ovens and refrigerators that run on vibranium energy. But I like doing it this way. Reminds me of when we were kids, with the coal stove and kerosene lamps and the iceman coming once a week. You know?"

"I do," Steve says and takes the cup when Bucky offers it. The milk is creamier than he expected, and sweet, too. He drinks it eagerly.

"We could do tourist stuff today," Bucky says as he flips the bread to cook on the other side. "We could go back to the city, for instance, so you can see what it's like there."

Steve toys with the cup. "Could we take a day or two before we do that? I'd like to just spend some time with you before there are crowds of people around."

Bucky looks at him with a slight smile. "Of course we can. I'd like that, too."

Steve smiles back, and drinks more milk in the hope Bucky won't notice him blush.

After they eat, Steve helps him get the beads out of his hair. Bucky wants him to leave the braids, though -- "They're so much easier to keep up than leaving my hair loose."

"I like it," Steve says, running his hand over the plaits, and Bucky smiles at him again, slight and gentle.

Out in the fields after that, where young boys from the village watch their herds and Bucky scatters racks of fresh hay for the goats to eat. The boys play games to pass the time, from European-style football with sturdy leather balls to tossing stones at a goal. Steve and Bucky play with them, and they all share drinks and food at midday. The boys start to teach Steve the language, too, the words for sky and tree and meat, the names of their animals and their families and tribe.

They call Bucky the same word T'Challa's guardsmen had, too -- _Ingcuka_. It must be a nickname the boys gave him, Steve thinks, or the Wakandan equivalent of James.

Sometimes Steve sees Bucky gazing at him, that gentle look back on his face, and Steve only smiles in return. He isn't sure what it all means, but he's having a good time.

The little group breaks up before sunset. The boys whistle to their herds and lead them off to the various pens, and Steve helps -- or at least doesn't hinder -- Bucky lead away his.

"We've been invited to have supper with M'Baku, the leader of the Mountain tribe, tomorrow night." Bucky waves his wrist, where he wears the vibranium beads of the communication bracelet. "It'll mean dressing up a little. Shaving, maybe, too."

"Hey, I clean up good," Steve protests.

"You do," Bucky says with another gentle look at him, and Steve laughs out loud, blushing. "But first, a bath. Luckily we've got a river right at our doorstep." He breaks into a run, dropping his clothes on the way, and dives into the water.

Steve follows, though he doesn't undress until he gets to the water's edge. He dives from the banks. The water is cold -- its source must be in the mountains -- but no colder than the rivers they'd swum in during the war, and more refreshing than shocking.

He breaks through the surface and sucks in air, and looks around for Bucky. Bucky is close to the shore so he can stand, and the water's surface bobs just below his waist. Steve treads water as Bucky scrubs himself with handfuls of sand, and then dives under water again when Bucky turns in his direction.

_Mustn't push, mustn't push,_ he thinks as he swims deeper, but it's so hard not to touch, explore, appreciate. He wants Bucky to remember _so much_, but if Bucky doesn't remember on his own, does it count as remembering?

Steve swims to the surface again, and waves his arm when he hears Bucky shouting for him. "Here! I'll come back." He swims with a breast stroke, and comes to a stop a few yards away from Bucky where he wades the rest of the way.

"I got worried for a second, there." Bucky puts his hand on Steve's shoulder. "Working off some energy?"

"Guess so." He closes his eyes. "I'll sleep like a baby tonight."

"Good," Bucky says, and tugs him closer so they can lean against each other. "No bad dreams."

"None," Steve promises.

#    



	6. Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgbox.com/AbVWpSV0)

"There's this song stuck in my head," says Bucky.

The fire has burned low. The sun is low, too, painting the approaching storm clouds with pink and purple light. Despite the coming storm, everything feels sleepy and gentle, from the muted colors of the countryside to the soft breeze blowing in from the river, to the lowing of animals in their pens.

Full from supper, lazy after a day's work, Steve's body is utterly relaxed and his eyelids are heavy. He rouses himself enough to say, "What song?"

Bucky softly sings, "'If I didn't care, would I feel this way ... not for a year, but forever and a day...' but that's not right. I think I'm mixing two songs together but I don't remember either of them well enough to untangle them."

"I remember those songs," Steve says. He sings, soft too, "'It's very clear, our love is here to stay, not for a year, but forever and a day. The radio and the telephone, they're only made of clay...' That's one song."

Bucky leans his head on Steve's arm. "What's the other one?"

Steve is quiet so long Bucky looks up at him, his hair making a soft rustle against the sleeve of Steve's shirt.

Steve sings, barely above a whisper, "'If I didn't care more than words can say, if I didn't care, would I feel this way? If this isn't love, then why do I thrill... and what makes my head go round and round, while my heart stands still...'"

Steve falls silent.

Bucky looks out at the river again. "You liked that one. You'd make me dance with you when it came on the radio."

"I think 'made' is a little strong." He smiles at the fire

"Asked, then. You'd _ask_ me to dance with you to it, despite your conviction you had two left feet."

"Yeah," Steve says. "Yeah. There was barely room to move in our tiny little apartment. We didn't even have our own radio. Mrs. Sullivan across the alley listened to hers loud enough for us to hear. At least she had good taste in music."

"Those were good times."

"The best times," Steve says. "Even if we went to bed hungry sometimes, at least we--" He has to stop, gather himself.

Bucky says nothing. His hand moves to touch Steve's.

Steve whispers, "Bucky. Why did you ask for me?"

"Because I missed you, punk," Bucky says and knocks his head lightly against Steve's shoulder.

"You missed me," Steve says. "The king of Wakanda sent his personal jet along with an escort of his personal guard, and all he needed to hear from you is that you missed me."

"That's all it took." Bucky pauses. "So many things in my head are so dark. All that death. All that suffering. But then, there's the opposite. This golden god. This ... pure person."

"Buck--"

"Don't tell me you're not. I remember. During the war it was my job to keep you noble."

Steve says, "You kept me _safe_."

Bucky huffs and shrugs a shoulder, like _Six of one, half-dozen of the other._ "Here's a story," he says. "It's a sad story now, but I don't think it'll stay that way. Once upon a time, James Buchanan Barnes was a lost soul. He didn't know his name or his past or his heart, and most days not even his own mind. He was drowning in darkness and violence. But before he could lose his soul completely, a shining light found him again and chased away the shadows." He looks at Steve, a faint smile on his mouth and in his eyes. "I suppose I wanted to see how much of what I remember is true."

Steve whispers, "What do you remember?"

Bucky's smile turns gentle. "I remember everything."

Steve can't speak for the lump in his throat. He looks away from Bucky before tears fill his eyes -- instead there's the river, the fire, the purple clouds that rumble and flash. In Wakanda, even the lightning is beautiful.

"The first time you kissed me," Bucky says, "we were just kids, and neither of us knew what to do about it except to do it more. After your ma died and we got tired of sleeping on the sofa cushions, we got that tiny little apartment and a double bed, and we slept together in that bed every night until I left for Basic. And we'd dance together when your favorite song came on the radio."

Steve can't speak. He feels Bucky's gaze as he waits for him to respond. Every muscle in his body wants to throw himself at Bucky, kiss his face, touch his body -- but still, he can't, he can't push, he _can't_\--

Bucky touches Steve's cheek. His hand sinks into Steve's hair. He turns Steve's face to him and their lips touch.

The sheer _relief_ at this kiss overwhelms him. Bucky's mouth is familiar, welcome, a mouth Steve has kissed a million times and could happily kiss a million more. He can't stop himself from smiling when Bucky breaks the kiss and leans their foreheads together.

"We were in love," Bucky whispers. "We were crazy in love."

"We were," Steve whispers and swallows hard. "I -- I still am. Buck--"

Bucky meets his eyes. "So am I."

Without a pause, Steve throws himself onto Bucky, wraps his arms tight around him, buries his face in Bucky's neck. Bucky laughs and holds him tight, too, and when they kiss again they both make soft sounds of satisfaction.

"You invaded Austria for me."

"You pulled me from the Potomac."

"You said my name. No one had said my name for decades but you did, and it broke through everything they'd done. They thought they'd made me their machine but all it took to break it was you saying my name."

Steve kisses his face as Bucky speaks -- he pauses now, and pulls back to look at Bucky. Bucky's head is pillowed on Steve's arm, his face is calm, and his lips are pink and plump from kisses. There's no pain or regret, just tenderness. Just love.

Steve strokes Bucky's cheek with his forefinger. "I never stopped missing you. I mourned you, and I hated myself for not saving you. When I saw you were alive, I couldn't -- back during the war we sent people to find your body but they couldn't, so they figured you'd been swept away by the river, and I accepted the official story but it never felt right and I should have --"

"Sh, Stevie, stop." His arm goes around Steve's neck, and he tugs Steve close. Steve exhales as he relaxes against Bucky's chest. "It's over now. I'm safe here, and I'm doing okay."

"You suffered. You suffered for so long."

"I survived, too. Steve." He tilts Steve's face up. "Do you need to hear me say it? I forgive you, I love you, and even when I couldn't remember you I knew there was an empty space where you were supposed to be."

Steve squeezes his eyes shut. The wind is turning cooler and stronger, and they will soon need to go indoors to get out of the rain -- but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the steady thump of Bucky's heart and the heat of his body, and his soothing fingers combing through Steve's hair. How many times had they fallen asleep just like this, wrapped around each other while rain poured or snow blew or the moon rose over the tenements?

A hundred times. A thousand. God willing, they would a thousand more.

He opens his eyes at the sound of rain hitting the surface of the river. "C'mon," Bucky says, "we're about to get soaked."

Steve leaps up and hastily puts out the fire with dirt, while Bucky gathers the blankets. They make it into the hut as the storm arrives with a crash of thunder, and Steve pauses in the doorway to watch. He knows this is a scheduled storm, part of what keeps Wakanda so fruitful, but the raw power of it makes his heart pound with exhilaration.

Bucky wraps his arm around him from behind, and kisses his neck.

"It's beautiful, don't you think?" Steve says. "Everything here is so beautiful."

"It's beautiful," Bucky agrees, and Steve looks at him over his shoulder. It's corny, he knows, but Bucky is truly the most beautiful thing here. Steve turns in Bucky's embrace and holds his face, kissing him, and Bucky chuckles and kisses back as he tugs the hem of Steve's shirt from his waistband. "Stevie," he whispers, "Steve, honey, if I don't touch you tonight I'm going to lose my mind."

Steve laughs, mutters, "We can't have that," and kisses Bucky again and again as they tug off each other's clothes. Bucky's clothes are designed so he can get in and out of them easily -- fastenings come undone with just a tug, boots unlace with a strap. His body is glorious in the semi-dark, broad shoulders and slim hips illuminated by flashes of lightning. Steve stays on his knees, his hands on Bucky's hips, and presses his face to Bucky's stomach as Bucky strokes his hair.

"You okay?"

"Overwhelmed." He kisses Bucky's stomach. "Never thought I'd get to do this again." He rises, then shields Bucky as a gust of particularly strong wind blows through the curtain and brings rain into the hut.

Bucky kisses him, and chucks his cheek. "Light the fire while I get that," he says. He pulls the curtain closed against the wind and fastens it tight, while Steve lights the fire in the hearth. Its crackling and low flames transform the hut into a cozy little space, and he sits back on his heels to watch Bucky as he dries the rainwater on the cork floor.

Bucky looks up and grins at him. "Still overwhelmed, honey?"

"A little less," Steve admits. "Reality has a funny way of doing that."

"There's nothing to be overwhelmed by." Bucky crosses the hut and kneels in front of Steve. "It's just me."

"I'm about to have sex for the first time in decades with my best friend and the love of my life. Yep, nothing to be overwhelmed by at all."

"Oh, stop." Bucky holds his face and kisses him. "You're going to make _me_ nervous, carrying on like that."

Steve gives himself a mental shake, and hugs Bucky close to him while they kiss. This man is still his best friend, always the love of his life, and no longer lost, never to be lost again.

As good as knowing Bucky was safe has been, this is better. Soft hair and warm skin and firm muscles, willing mouth and eager hand, so much to touch and reacquaint himself with. This is visceral. This is real.

And it's particularly real when Bucky has him lean back on one of the little beds and sucks his cock, his hair brushing Steve's thighs and their hands clasped. The first time they'd tried this, neither of them knew what they were doing and ended up messy and laughing and wiping jizz from their faces. They got better, thank God. Bucky's still the best at it.

Outside there's thunder and rain and the swelling river. Inside, the fire crackles, Bucky moans in his throat, and Steve lets go into his mouth, everything in his body set free.

He spreads himself out for Bucky, both of them kneeling on the floor and Steve bent over the little bed. Bucky's fingers are slick with olive oil as he holds Steve's hip, and Steve shivers at Bucky's familiar grunt as he slides inside. He moans Bucky's name, reaches for his hand again. Bucky laughs, dark and deep, and gives Steve's ear a nibble. "I got you, Stevie." Their fingers interlace. Steve holds Bucky's hip. They rock together, Steve's face pressed against the bedding, and Bucky's fingers spasm when he cries out.

They come to rest, breathing hard. Bucky kisses Steve's shoulder, and pulls out of him carefully so they can climb together into the little bed.

"Bath tomorrow," Steve mutters, curling into Bucky's body.

"Tomorrow." He tucks himself around Steve. This was easier to do when Steve was a foot shorter, but they figured it out again during the war. They've always found a way to fit.

Steve is almost asleep when he hears Bucky whisper, "You're true. I'm so glad. You're true."

He kisses Bucky, mumbles, "Always true to you," and falls to dreaming.


	7. Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgbox.com/hTZpcyYU)  


Steve opens his eyes when he feels Bucky sit up beside him, yawning and stretchinging. "Good morning," he says and touches Bucky's back. "What are the plans for today?"

Bucky turns back to him, and kisses him with a murmured, "Good morning." They kiss for a few minutes, then Bucky says, "What I'd like to do is stay in bed all day," his voice low.

Steve swallows hard. "I'd like that, too."

"But," Bucky says with a sigh and a wry smile, "there are goats to tend today, and we'll need to prepare for the feast with the Mountain Tribe by early evening. The Royal Family are sending a car for us."

Steve groans teasingly, and falls back on the bed. "Other people, dammit."

"Poor Stevie," Bucky coos and wraps himself around him. Steve kisses his forehead and pulls one of the cotton sheets over both their heads.

"There," Steve says. "We're safe in the blanket fort."

"Goofball," says Bucky but doesn't pull the sheet away. They lie with their foreheads touching, eyes open, and breathe together.

"Good morning," Steve whispers and kisses Bucky. "I love you."

"Good morning," Bucky says, similarly soft. "I love you too." He traces Steve's chest with his thumb, down to Steve's abdomen. "I shot you here."

"Buck, don't."

"Steve, I need to." He ducks down and kisses Steve's stomach. "Not even a scar."

Steve touches Bucky's hair. "I was out of the hospital in a couple days. I never get sick anymore. I don't even know if I'll age."

"I know, Steve," low and amused, as Bucky noses Steve's stomach and low belly. "I remember what a miracle of science you are." He pushes Steve onto his back and rests his chin on Steve's chest. "We could stay the night at M'Baku's palace. Wanna do that? Then we could have a lazy morning tomorrow."

"Let's do that." He has no idea what the night will bring, but the prospect of a lazy morning with Bucky in a palace is too much to resist.

"I'll ask the kids to mind my herd, in that case." Bucky pulls the sheet down with a sigh, and Steve inhales the fresh air. "I want to show you around the city tomorrow. You should see the innovations they've made, Steve. It's not just the dome and the stealth tech -- it's transport, it's weaponry, it's everything big and small that leaves people enough time to create and think and innovate themselves. This entire country is leaps and bounds ahead of any other place I've been."

"I want to see it. C'mere." Bucky moves so they're eye-level again, and Steve folds his arms and legs around him. Bucky chuckles and tucks his head under Steve's chin. "Show me everything you love," Steve murmurs and kisses his hair. "Show me the things that make you happy. Show me everything, tell me everything. We've got all the time in the world."

"I will." They're quiet, Bucky's lips resting on the pulse in Steve's throat, until Bucky sighs and says, "But first, practicalities. A quick bath in the river and then we need to tend my herd."

"I'm right behind you," Steve answers.

The day goes as Bucky said. The routine, Steve thinks, must be part of Bucky's therapy -- he knows what needs to be done and does it, and the simplicity of it must be comforting. The boys from the village are funny and warm, and Steve doesn't even mind when one of the baby goats bleats in his ear because he likes watching their antics so much.

When the goats are in their pens that evening, Steve and Bucky wash up thoroughly. Steve helps Bucky trim his beard, and lays out the best clothes he brought along.

He regrets packing light when he sees Bucky lay out his suit. It's black, cut slim to the body, and he has a scarf of Wakandan cotton in royal purple and white to wear across his chest and over his missing arm.

"I should have realized there would be some formal occasions."

Bucky laughs at Steve's expression of dismay. "The Royal Family are pleased to provide their guest with clothing appropriate for the occasion."

The car arrives around sunset. Instead of the Range Rover that transported Steve before, it's a modified BMW, humming with vibranium power. One of the Dora Milaje, wearing a charcoal-gray gown, gets out of the car to hand Steve garment bag with a formal outfit of his own. Bucky greets her by name, Kya, and she calls him "Ingcuka," her responding smile warm and fond.

Steve changes clothes quickly, not even taking the time to check his appearance, and steps out of the hut to join Bucky and their escort with their overnight bag. Like Bucky's suit, Steve's is black and tailored to his body, with purple lining and a purple and gold scarf to wear around his neck.

"You look very fine, Captain," Kya says, and Bucky looks at Steve through his lashes like he'd like to rush Steve back into the hut. Steve gives him a private smile, and they both get into the car.

Steve thinks he'll only have eyes for Bucky during the drive, but then Bucky says, "Steve, check out the view," and so he looks. He admits it's worth it, particularly as they start climbing into the mountains: the valley of central Wakanda, the shining river, the city centered around the mountain of vibranium. It's a different angle than flying into the city, and somehow more moving because it's so close and immediate and bright. _This is what people see every day,_ he thinks. _This is part of what makes their country home._

Bucky touches his hand, and Steve smiles at him.

The palace of the Mountain Tribe is sculpted to look like the tribe's totem animal, the mountain gorilla, and Steve thinks it's as intimidating as a real gorilla on the attack would be. But once they're inside, it's light and airy, filled with music and laughter and talk.

M'Baku is much the same: intimidating at first glance, with his size and stern expression, but then his expression breaks into a smile as he and Bucky greet each other. M'Baku pulls him into a deep hug. "Ingcuka," he says, "you look well."

"I am. This is Captain Steven Rogers," Bucky says to him, and takes Steve's hand. "My best friend from home."

"Welcome to the Mountain Tribe, Captain Rogers," M'Baku says, and Steve, utterly charmed, says "Please, call me Steve," to which M'Baku beams and says, "Welcome, Steve."

The Royal Family arrives shortly after: T'Challa, Shuri, and the regally beautiful Queen Mother Ramonda. Steve follows Bucky's lead when greeting her; T'Challa and Bucky hug, and Bucky hugs Shuri and she punches his shoulder with a laugh, Ramonda gets a clasped hand and a kiss on the cheek. Steve doesn't attempt the kiss, but Ramonda gives him one anyway, with a "Welcome to Wakanda, Captain. We are so pleased to have you here."

The feast is spread over a low, long table that seats forty people or so. Their fellow guests are men and women of various tribes, joined by M'Baku's wife and children, including a babe-in-arms that gets handed to various guests. T'Challa looks wistful when he holds the child, and both Ramonda and Shuri give him sympathetic looks.

To Steve's surprise, Bucky takes a turn too, and holds the baby in the crook of his arm like he's done it many times before. Of course, Steve thinks, he had younger sisters, he's had practice; the fact that Bucky holds the child so easily and she goes on sleeping so soundly makes a lump rise in Steve's throat.

"What's her name?" he asks Bucky.

"Tendai," Bucky says. "It means 'thankful.'"

"Tendai," Steve repeats, pleased at the sound of it, and gives the girl a forefinger to grasp. Her grip is reflexive but strong; she yawns, lips and tongue healthy and pink, and her eyes open just enough for Steve to see they are amber-brown and clear. _She'll thrive,_ Steve thinks. It's an old-fashioned thought but he's an old-fashioned fellow, and used to parents never being sure if their new babies will live to their second birthday.

First, second, and third courses pass with much laughter, the youngest children joining their favorites -- including Bucky, Steve is glad to see, who picks up various children to sit on his knee without even pausing in conversation -- until they grow bored and move on, adults calling to each other from opposite ends of the table to settle disputed facts or tell stories. They speak in English, which Steve thinks must be for the sake of their visitors, and contributes little, preferring to listen.

They each have a dessert made of sorbet and iced, sugared fruit in front of them when M'Baku rises from his seat at the head of the table. All conversation falls respectfully silent. He says, "We gather to celebrate our friendship and our strength together. There needs be no other reason -- but tonight, there is." Chuckles around the table. Bucky smiles to himself, and Steve wonders why as T'Challa rises, too. "My king," M'Baku says, "my friend, make your announcement."

"Thank you, my friend," T'Challa says. He tells the diners, "One year ago, Wakanda took in a man without a country, a past, or much hope for the future. With help from Princess Shuri," he bows his head to her, and she winks in reply, "we have helped this man restore his past and give him hope for the future. As he has said to me, we have given him a home. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, we are pleased to have you here."

Bucky blushes and stands, but just bows his head and says, "Thank you," before sitting again.

"There is more," T'Challa says and Steve could swear there's a twinkle in his eye. "The outside world still perceives you as the Winter Solder, the perpetrator of countless crimes." Bucky's expression is serious, and he nods slightly. "We know the truth of your heart, Bucky Barnes," T'Challa says, his tone gentle. "You were nicknamed Ingcuka by the boys of your village. We officially name you Ingcuka, White Wolf, adopted son and brother of Wakanda's Royal Family."

Steve's eyes sting, and Bucky's grow bright. He stands again and says in a thick voice, "Thank you, T'Challa, Shuri, Ramonda. Thank you so much. Your love--" He stops and clears his throat. "Your love means the world to me." He sits again, and Steve puts an arm around his shoulders.

The feast ends once everyone finishes their sobet. Many diners congratulate Bucky, and Bucky hugs Ramonda and they exchange a few quiet, serious words. Steve steps back to allow them a few minutes of privacy.

Shuri comes to Steve while Bucky is with Ramonda. "Will we be calling you brother soon too?"

"I've no objection," Steve replies, and she laughs.

"I suppose that will depend on White Wolf's wishes, and your reply."

"Is that what Ingcuka means?" Steve asks. "'White Wolf'? I noticed people call him that a lot but thought it was maybe just a Wakandan version of his name."

"James is a colonizer's name," Shuri says. "Ingcuka is the name given to his new life." She eyes him, a smile still on her face to take any sting from her words. "Though I suspect Bucky is the name of his heart."

"I think you're right," Steve says softly, watching Bucky as he crosses the dining hall to join them. He puts his arms around Bucky's neck unabashedly and kisses his mouth. "Hello, Ingcuka."

"Bucky," Bucky says, his arm around Steve's waist. "You can still call me Bucky."

"Prince Bucky," Steve teases, and Bucky grimaces and then kisses him.

It's long after midnight when they're shown to a guest room. They take off their formal clothes and sink into a soft, deep bed to sleep beneath sheets of fine cotton. "White Wolf, huh?" Steve whispers as Bucky kisses his neck.

Bucky nibbles on his throat in reply. "That's what they call me."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes. It's when I knew they'd accepted me. Everybody else just picked up on it, and hardly anybody calls me Bucky anymore." He leaned on his arm, gazing at Steve. Steve holds Bucky's face and strokes his cheekbones with his thumbs. "But I'm always your Bucky, kid."

"And I'm always your Steve, Buck," Steve whispers, and Bucky kisses him.


	8. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgbox.com/jfmG1Sy9)  


The shades of the window opposite their bed opens at the touch of a button. It reveals a sweeping view of the valley, ringed by mountains, and a clear blue sky. Steve sits up to admire the view, and then looks down at Bucky to see if he's awake to enjoy this, too.

Sunlight glints off Bucky's hair, captivating Steve. Rich chestnut with notes of red, thick and wavy, so pretty that Steve strokes it like one would the mane of a horse.

Turns out Bucky is more awake than Steve suspected -- he shifts his head, and his eyes blink slowly, catlike.

_Wolflike_, Steve thinks, and he tucks Bucky's hair behind his ear. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Bucky murmurs in reply. "Happy birthday."

"What?" Steve says, and then laughs. "Oh, yeah. I guess lost track of the date."

Bucky winds an arm around him and tugs him close. He kisses Steve's forehead. "I remembered for you. I don't think I can arrange fireworks for you tonight, despite my influence with the Royal Family."

"I'll manage," Steve murmurs. He presses his nose to Bucky's neck. Today he smells like soap and sleep, and it's perfectly Bucky, too. Whether they are in a Brooklyn tenement or a camp in Germany or a mountaintop in Wakanda, Bucky always smells like home. Steve strokes his chest, eyes half-closed. "Thank you, by the way. Even without the fireworks."

"Anytime, kid." He chuckles. "Especially on your birthday."

There's a light knock at the door. "Come in," Bucky calls, and the door opens to reveal one of M'Baku's staff, a pretty young woman in the Mountain Tribe colors of buff and gray. She informs them there is a breakfast buffet starting soon in the grand dining room. The car to take them home is waiting for their convenience. "Thank you," Bucky says, and she nods and silently shuts the door.

Steve says, "I suppose we should get up and be presentable."

"No rush, really." Bucky says. "We can take our time to get ready and to eat. What do you want to do afterward?"

Steve shrugs, still stroking Bucky's chest. "You wanted to show me the city, right? Let's do that, and then go swimming."

"That's all you want to do for your birthday? Go swimming?"

Steve laughs again, comfortably. "I'm with you, and that's all I need."

"Aw, Stevie," Bucky says as he drapes himself over Steve, and they lose many minutes to kissing.

"I'll make you something special for dinner," Bucky says when they pause. "And probably not a cake, but something for a treat."

"I'd love that." He plays with Bucky's hair. "Let's go back soon. I like this, but I like your hut better, even if it's not as technologically advanced."

"I do, too."

"I've missed this," Bucky murmurs. "Lying in bed and talking with you. I've missed this a lot."

"Me, too."

They lie together in silence, touching each other lightly. "Hey," Bucky says. "Are you okay? Really okay?"

"I should be asking you that."

"Well, I'm asking you."

Steve doesn't reply for long enough that Bucky raises his head. He says, "Most of the time, I'm fine. There's always so much to do. We're still tracking down HYDRA cells. Rumlow wasn't the only remaining true believer."

"Steve," patiently.

"I don't know, man," Steve says, throwing up his hands. "It's a new world and I've never been sure of my place in it. Phil Coulson once said we still need the stars and stripes, but I think he'd take those words back if he were around today."

Bucky puts his arm around Steve's neck. "Hey," he says. "Hey. It's me you're talking to. Who knows you best, huh?"

"You do," Steve mutters, tucking his head against Bucky's neck.

"Damn right. As the person who knows you best, I say your place is wherever you are, Steve. Good people are needed everywhere, always. Remember what Dr. Erskine said? Stay a good man."

"I remember."

Bucky kisses him and rubs his back. "Look, I know it's a lot of responsibility. I know it's hard to always be strong. It is for me, too. But I truly think there's a reason we're still here, and it's so we can still do some good in this world, big or small. Even if you're wandering the world like a nomad, you're still Steve Rogers. A good man."

"A hundred year old good man," Steve says, but there's no heat to it. Age has nothing to do with it, he knows. "God, Bucky, I know I'll have to leave you but I don't want to. I need you around. I need you to -- to anchor me."

Bucky rubs his back and rests his chin on Steve's head. "Well," he begins slowly.

"No," Steve says, "You're not safe anywhere else in the world. You need to stay where you're safe. But goddammit, I'm going to miss you."

"You've got a laptop, right?"

Steve lifts his head at this unexpected question. "Yes. Mostly Nat and Sam use it, though."

"Then they can show you how to use the program I'm thinking of, that will let us call each other over the internet whenever we want to talk. We can talk every night. You can tell me all the things you're scared of and I'll tell you why you're ridiculous."

Steve blinks at him, then hugs him tight. His voice is muffled in Bucky's neck. "Thanks. Thank you. It'll help so much."

"I know. I miss you, too, you know."

"I know."

"I wouldn't let you leave with just a fare-thee-well. I need you, too."

"I know," Steve says again, "I need you so much," and once more they're clinging to each other, kissing long and deep, whispering again and again of love and need and longing.

Despite their best intentions, they're late to breakfast.


	9. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgbox.com/dwd5OGpr)

Bucky asks the driver to give them a few hours to wander, so they're dropped off in the center of the city, near the marketplace. Holding hands, Steve and Bucky walk slowly through the market. Noiseless trams run through the streets. There are theaters, banks, office buildings, schools. Market stalls sell food, clothes, jewelry, or art in bright colors or dark woods.

Everywhere there is more vibranium, flashing on wrists or glowing in vehicle engines. Steve thinks of his shield, and how simple it is compared to everything the people of Wakanda have invented over the centuries.

Bucky is completely at home here, too, like the Bucky Steve knew before the war: the Bucky who loved people and new experiences and had hope for the future, of course he's at home in Wakanda.

People are accustomed to him, it seems. They smile in delight when he speaks to them in Wakandan, and greet him by name. Some of vendors have set aside particular trinkets or tidbits for him, which of course Bucky buys. He and Steve eat fruit, kebabs with peppers and squash, or sticky toffees as they wander the streets.

"You're at home here," Steve observes when they're finally on their way to meet the car.

"I suppose so." He pauses to offer Steve a bite of his fruit, which of course Steve takes, holding Bucky's wrist. "It's better with you here."

Steve kisses him, right on the street. No one even double-takes, as far as he can tell, which never would have happened in Brooklyn and might not happen in a lot of places now. Bucky laughs, quietly, and holds Steve by the back of his neck. "I can't help it," Steve says in his defense. "I've missed kissing you."

"We've got a lot to make up for," Bucky agrees, and after another kiss, they continue walking.

Finally back in the village, Bucky checks on his herd, left in the care of the village boys while they were away.

Meantime, Steve unpacks their overnight bag and hangs their formal suits. He strokes the inside of Bucky's jacket before he hangs it in the wardrobe.

While he waits for Bucky to return from the grazing field, Steve sits near the riverbank on a blanket, his sketchbook open. He bought colored pencils in the city, and hopes their rich colors will properly capture the beauty of the sunset.

"This is better than fireworks," he tells Bucky when Bucky bumps down beside him on the blanket.

"You should still have fireworks. This will have to do." He brought a bag with him, and out of it takes a box of matches and another of sparklers.

Steve laughs, touched and amused, and Bucky presents him with the first sparkler. "Will you do the honors?"

"Thank you." Steve takes it and strikes a match. The column of powder lights up, sparkling as it burns. Steve waves the sparkler in the air to write his name -- then adds "+ Bucky" which makes Bucky laugh. "Here." He gives the sparkler to Bucky.

"Thank you." He stands and moves away a few feet to write.

Steve watches him, then grabs his sketchbook and black pencil, and draws a rough sketch -- the mountains, the lake, the setting sun, and Buck's strong lean body as he writes, "I love you," in the sky.

"I love you too," he says when the sparkler goes out and Bucky joins him again on the blanket. Bucky kisses him heartily and leans against Steve's shoulder.

"What are you drawing?"

"You," Steve says and shows him the sketch.

Bucky inspects it, and chuckles. "You draw me like a god."

"You're as beautiful as one."

"Oh, stop," Bucky mutters, his face flushing, and he kisses Steve as if to make him stop talking.

It's all good with Steve -- kissing Bucky is also better than fireworks. He could do it all night. Hopefully, tonight he will.

"Steve," Bucky whispers when they've kissed long enough for the moon to rise, "Steve, tell me something."

Steve stops sucking on Bucky's jaw. "Yeah, honey?"

"Tell me why you haven't asked me to come with you."

His eyes in the darkness remind Steve of a deep lake -- Steve would much rather get lost in them than think about the outside world. He sighs and leans his head against Bucky's, and Bucky strokes his hair as he waits.

Steve says, "I want to. You know I do. I want to be with you."

"I want to be with you, too. I'd go with you anywhere."

"I know." He pulls back with a sigh. Bucky's face is full of patience and love, and it makes Steve's heart ache to know he'll have to leave this behind. "Shuri asked me not to ask you to do anything you're not ready for. So I didn't say anything about us, because I wanted you to remember it on your own, and I'm not going to ask you to leave Wakanda, where you're safe and protected and people love you."

"I'd go," Bucky says. "I'd go."

"I know." He kisses Bucky, desperate, overwhelmed, loving him so much. "I know, and I want you, but you're safe here."

"Steve." He takes hold of Steve's face and meets his eyes, serious. "The moment I can, the _moment_, I'm coming to you. Understand? I want to be with you more than anything."

"I know."

"But you're right," Bucky says. "You're right, and we both know it. If I left Wakanda now, we'd be on the run the rest of our lives. I can't put you in that kind of danger again."

"I know." He huffs. "I may be on the run for the rest of my life anyway."

"Then I can't make it worse." He pauses, and Steve watches the emotions play over his face. "I'm -- I'm not a danger to anyone here. I know it and the people around me know it. But I'm not _stable_, Steve. I'm better. But get me out _there_," he jerks his head toward the west, "and I have no idea what will happen."

Steve presses his forehead against Bucky's. They both clutch at each other, breathing hard. "I know. I won't ask you. You need to stay here and I'm needed out there."

"We can talk every day," Bucky says. "We can call each other over the internet. You can visit any time. You're the beloved of the Royal Family's adopted son -- no one's going to stop you." He stroked Steve's head. "We'll make it work. We just have to keep faith."

"I never thought I'd have you back," Steve says. "You have all of my faith."

Bucky smiles, his eyes closed, his hand still soothing Steve with gentle strokes. "Come on, birthday boy," he says softly. "Let's go to bed."

Steve exhales slowly, letting all of his tension go. He's with Bucky now, after years of loneliness and missing him, and Bucky still loves him the way he did seventy years ago. It's more than he ever dreamed of, more happiness than most people get in a lifetime -- even one as long as his.

_It's enough,_ he thinks as he and Bucky walk back to the hut, _it's more than enough._


	10. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgbox.com/a5MFHpbt)

The final day has to come. After a wonderful week of exploring Wakanda and enjoying Bucky's company, it's time to return to his little group and resume their mission.

Before that, though, Steve draws everything in his sketchbook so he can show Sam and Natasha what he had seen and done.

_Or seen, anyway,_ he thinks with a wry smile as he flips through the pages: portraits of people in the village and the city, studies of Wakandan jewelry and clothes and buildings, landscapes of valleys or the view from Shuri's lab.

He makes dozens of sketches of Bucky. Studies of his hands, the way his shoulder curves into his arm as he looks over his shoulder, his hair falling over his face; the lines of his body as he lifts bales of hay out of a cart to feed his goats; his back as he sits in bed to read to Steve when the night rains fall.

Every sketch, no matter how rough, every pencil line whether hasty or thoughtful, says how much he loves this beautiful man.

Steve looks up at Bucky, baking flat bread for their morning meal as usual, and says, "Do you want to keep any of these?" He holds up the sketchbook.

"Only if you want to make one pretty for me." Bucky flashes him a grin. "It's your journal, Steve. Keep it. Show me where you've been the next time you visit."

"I'll make one pretty for you," Steve promises, and sighs. The Range Rover from the palace will arrive soon. He's ready to go, his clothes and possessions packed, but he doesn't feel ready to leave.

Bucky deftly places the flat bread on a plate. He brings the plate to Steve and they huddle together on the bed to eat the bread and drink fresh goat's milk.

Steve says softly, "I'm gonna miss you a lot. Even knowing I can talk to you whenever I want to, I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you, too." He strokes Steve's mouth with his thumb. "But you can come again, any time. We'll talk every day. And someday we might even figure out how to live together again."

"I hope so."

"Faith, Stevie." He taps Steve's chest. "You're a symbol of hope, remember?"

"Knock it off," Steve says, but he's smiling, and he grabs Bucky's hand to give his palm a quick kiss.

They've finished their breakfast when the Jeep pulls up, with Lwazi and Themba in the front seat again. This time they greet Steve with hearty hugs, which Steve returns, and call Bucky Incguka again as they hug him. This time, Steve can say a few words in Wakandan to greet them, too, and they laugh, pleased. "We will give you More lessons when you come again," says Lwazi. "You'll be fluent in no time."

They stow Steve's bag in the back seat, and get into the Rover. Steve looks at Bucky -- they've kissed goodbye, hugged goodbye, but it's hard to say goodbye now.

He touches Bucky's cheek. "Well. Good to see you, Buck."

"See you soon," Bucky says. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I won't," Steve says, "I'm leaving all the stupid with you." They hug each other, heartily, and when Steve can tear himself away he climbs into the Jeep. Thema starts the engine, turns on the road, and begins the drive back to the palace.

Steve stays turned back in the seat, to watch Bucky wave goodbye until he's too far away for even Steve to see.

The End


	11. Epilogue: The List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgbox.com/kYGYzxya)  


  1. I told T'Challa I'd been writing down my memories, trying to piece things together, but I didn't know where the notebooks were since Bucharest. He said he'd try to track them down for me; meantime, he gave me this one, for whatever I need to write. I don't think I'm going to recreate the old notebooks. This will just be for new memories and new thoughts. This will be for things I know are true.

  2. I watched my first sunset in over a year tonight. Sunsets in Wakanda are maybe the most beautiful in the world. They're certainly the most beautiful I remember seeing.

  3. I remember other sunsets. Watching the light fade from the top of the tenement in Brooklyn. The sun going down behind mountains in Europe, making it dusk for a good hour before it went dark. Sunset between the buildings in London, painting those old cream bricks pink and gold.

  4. I don't think the Soldier ever watched a sunset. I don't know if he never thought of it, or he wasn't allowed.

  5. Shuri says I can watch anything I want to. Sunsets. Dancing. The train carrying vibranium out of the mountain. Her technicians working in the lab. Anything I want to, it's entirely up to me.

  6. Shuri is fucking funny. She's clever and blunt. I don't mind being in the lab when she's there. I can ignore all the tests when she talks to me.

  7. The techs don't do anything that hurts. They don't do anything that makes me scream.

  8. They ask me questions sometimes, but they don't even make me talk if I don't want to.

  9. Sometimes words are hard to find.

  10. Shuri says that silence can be healing, too.

  11. Given the choice between the city and the country, I chose the country. I know I'll stand out wherever I am, but I want the quiet, and fewer people will see me in the country than in the city.

  12. Goat shit reeks to the point of eye-watering pungency.

  13. I know words like "pungency."

  14. I know words like unctuous, fervent, ethereal, cosmic, opulent, gossamer.

  15. I know words that have nothing to do with death.

  16. I remember reading by candlelight, when we were trying to save money and not use the kerosene lamps. Steve loved books, though he preferred history and I liked novels -- Jules Verne, H.G. Wells, Robert Louis Stevenson, Mary Shelley. I liked visions of the future, whether they were hopeful or dark.

  17. I remember reading _Amazing Stories_ in the corner store until Mr. O'Malley chased us out unless we bought something. That magazine cost a nickel. Sometimes I spent that nickel and walked home after instead of taking the streetcar, Steve mocking me the whole time

  18. I like the lab. You'd never think it was a lab, with all the art on the walls and the way the sun shines through the windows.

  19. I like Shuri's tech.

  20. I like that nobody treats me like I'm tech.

  21. I like liking things. I like knowing that I can like or dislike things, and not get punished for saying so.

  22. I like the village, too. It's quiet and peaceful. I fall asleep to the sound of the lake.

  23. I remember falling asleep to the sound of water lots of times. I know that Brooklyn was by the ocean, and we could hear it against the pilings under the docks.

  24. I don't know if I'll ever see Brooklyn again. I don't know if I miss it. It feels like a story, sometimes. Not like home.

  25. The village is starting to feel like home, as much as anything can feel like home now.

  26. The villagers know me as "Ingcuka", which apparently means White Wolf. Nearly everybody calls me this instead of Bucky or James.

  27. Nobody calls me Soldat. I'm not the Soldier to anyone in Wakanda, and I almost broke down crying when I realized it.

  28. The kids feel safe around me, too. That feels like -- I don't have words for how it makes me feel. Good, of course, but more than that. Accepted.

  29. I remember the neighborhood kids in Brooklyn. Playing stick ball in the street. Saving pennies to buy egg creams. Giving Steve every spare pencil and bit of paper I could find so he could draw.

  30. <strike>I remember</strike>

  31. <strike>I remember them all.</strike>

  32. I remember Steve.

  33. More things I like: cold water on my face in the morning, hot coffee with spices, dancing, Steve.

  34. I miss Steve.

  35. Steve, Steve, Steve. Steve is true. Steve is the truest thing I know.

  36. Shuri is true. She calls me her brother and holds me when the memories hurt more than I can bear.

  37. T'Challa is true. I told him I was afraid someone -- HYDRA, the CIA, some other group I don't know about yet -- would try to invade Wakanda to get me, and he said they can try all they like but he will never surrender me.

  38. Ramonda is true. She says I'm her son and holds my hand when I'm beside her. No matter how different a Scotswoman born in 1890 and a modern Wakandan queen may be, she reminds me of my own mother -- that same sense of comfort and safety and acceptance.

  39. M'Baku is true. He lets me play with his children, he taught me to throw a spear, he calls me Ingcuka and King's Brother, he speaks to me in Wakandan and only mocks me a little when I make mistakes.

  40. Okoye is true. She doesn't like me, but it's only because she's not convinced I'm no longer a threat.

  41. I'm not convinced I'm no longer a threat.

  42. Shuri says the trigger words can't hurt me anymore, but I dread the day we find out that's not true.

  43. To which Shuri says once I accept that, I will be much more at peace. So I'm trying to accept it.

  44. I'm saying the words to myself tonight. I've asked Okaye to set guards over me in case the Soldier comes back. She agreed, but won't bind me like I asked her to. She says if the king says I'm no threat, then I am no threat. I hope she's right.

  45. She's right. They're all right. Thank God.

  46. I feel like a newborn lately. Not helpless, just new and fresh. I feel like a new life.

  47. I still want to remember the old one, though. The things that made James Buchanan Barnes are important, too. The Barnes family, Brooklyn, Steve and Sarah Rogers.

  48. More things I remember about Brooklyn. The smell of the ocean, hot concrete, beeswax candles. Sleeping on the fire escape to catch a night breeze during a heat wave. People shouting to each other across the alleys. Whispering with Steve in bed when the light was fading and the world grew quiet.

  49. I remember watching movies with Steve. Steve loved movies. He used them to escape. We all did, then.

  50. We'd get penny candy or ice cream, and settle into seats in the back row so we could watch the other movie-goers before the newsreel began and the lights went down. We'd make up stories about them, the more outrageous the better, trying to make each other laugh. I could always make Steve laugh.

  51. Steve didn't laugh much, then. He was always so serious. Always a step away from angry, always on guard against the next bully. But he liked to laugh with me.

  52. He liked baseball and drawing and art.

  53. He'd drag me to museums whenever they had free admission so he could talk about paintings and styles and how effects were created, and I'd nod and yawn and pretend I understood.

  54. I liked baseball a lot more. Save up the fare to the stadium, the price of a ticket and maybe a hot dog, and it was a perfect afternoon. Steve would even sing at the seventh inning stretch.

  55. Won't be playing baseball again any time soon.

  56. But I like football, too, the kind of football they play here. I can play that with the village kids just fine.

  57. I can't draw. I couldn't even before I lost my arm.

  58. But even with only one arm, I can hold a sleeping newborn without waking her up.

  59. My hand knows how to be gentle, too.

  60. M'Baku has beautiful children, and they're not afraid of me.

  61. <strike>I remember children being afraid of me.</strike>

  62. So many things it hurts to remember.

  63. Shuri says to think of good things when I remember things that hurt. So when I remember breaking bones and blood, I think of Steve. Watching him draw. Dozing next to him on the beach at Coney Island, reminding him to put on a shirt so he wouldn't get sunburned. Coming home from work or looking for work, and smelling the supper he'd made as I climb up the stairs, even if it was just beans and day-old bread with a scrape of butter. Fighting with the Commandos by his side. Waking up in the night and reaching out to touch him, which was all I needed to feel safe.

  64. So many times the Solider woke up in the night -- or the day, or whenever I was allowed to grab a little sleep -- looking for something and I didn't know what. He was always there, just beyond my memory, his face like a dream.

  65. His face.

  66. His eyes are blue with a little green. Zemo said that made him less than perfect, but I've always thought they were beautiful and perfect and just right for Steve.

  67. I miss his face.

  68. I miss his body.

  69. God, his body. That narrow chest, those big eyes. I hated it when girls rejected him, because I saw so much beauty when I looked at him.

  70. But then, that meant he belonged only to me.

  71. He asked me if I loved him more after the serum, and I told him I loved him the same. I did. I loved him so goddamn much when he was skinny little Steve, and I loved him so goddamn much when he was the big fella with Steve's face, because his smile was still crooked and his eyes were still kind.

  72. <strike>Pierce looked like</strike> Fuck. Try again tomorrow.

  73. Pierce looked like him at first. I think that's why he was made my handler -- they knew that, deep down, I still remembered Steve. They tried to use it to control me, like they used every other goddamn part of me that mattered.

  74. But Pierce's eyes were never kind.

  75. Shuri says every part of me matters. Sometimes I believe her.

  76. If there's any part of me that's still good, it's because I remember Steve.

  77. I'm not ready to see Steve again.

  78. Everett Ross is kind of all right. He got my notebooks back, anyway, and after T'Challa gave them to me I was up all night, re-reading them, remembering the things that only felt like dreams before.

  79. Ross has assured me too that I'm safe in Wakanda, and I'm not a threat to their safety. I've slept a little better since then.

  80. So much to remember. The Depression. Brooklyn. My sisters. The war. Being experimented on by that little weasel, Zola. Saving the world with the Howling Commandos. Steve.

  81. I remember skinny little Steve, with a heart like a lion. I remember big strong Steve, the outside finally looking like what the inside always was.

  82. I want to see Steve again. My little lion man.

  83. I'm afraid to look at Steve and see disgust in his eyes. All the things I've done. All the pain and destruction I've caused. <strike>All the people I've</strike>

  84. But he knew it all already. I have to remember that, too. He knew when he pulled me from the bottom of the Danube. He knew when he promised to be with me to the end of the line. He knew when he dropped the shield and left Stark and the Avengers behind. He knew and his eyes were still kind.

  85. I trust him.

  86. I know him.

  87. He trusts me.

  88. He knows me.

  89. He knows me better than anyone. He called me by my name after seventy years. He thought I was dead and still he said my name.

  90. Faith is a fragile thing, and hard to keep safe. But I have faith in Steve.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Jamlocked for beta-reading and encouragement. <3
> 
> Thank you to Huntress79 for the arts.


End file.
